Tales of Taylor
by Inks Inc
Summary: "Need him? I don't need him. I don't need anyone, at any time, for any reason." She scoffs at my irritated incredulity, and throws me the look. The hand on hip, eyes narrowed, all-knowing look. I don't like that look, even if it is on Ana's face... When the subtle bromance of Christian Grey and Jason Taylor sours, it's up to an exasperated Ana to put Ying and Yang back together.
1. Chapter 1

" _Need_ him? I don't _need_ him? I don't need anyone, at any time, for any reason."

She scoffs at my irritated incredulity, and throws me _the look._ The hand on hip, eyes narrowed, all-knowing look. I don't like that look, even if it is on Ana's face. It's a look that knows too much, sees too much and talks too much. I pretend I don't see the look, I throw my eyes down to the morning's stock figures and try to appear brooding, in the intellectual sense. My _Financial Times_ suddenly goes sailing through the air to land with a thunk that symbolizes the demise of my masculinity on the kitchen floor. She's still giving me the look, and she doesn't quail when I give her _my_ look.

The _my palms are twitching_ look.

"Call him."

I snort and retrieve my precious paper, utterly unruffled.

"Never."

She tries to grab at the yellow pages of deliciousness once more, but I'm ready this time. I catch her wrist gently and offer the look again. I love this woman, I really do, but I am seriously considering shipping her off to my processing plant in Hong Kong for a second of motherfucking peace. She glares at me, a terrifying glint of steal for this hour of the morning and I raise a brow.

"Careful, Anastasia. What's done is done. Just leave it."

Blue eyes bubble over in adorable temper and I relent, just a bit.

"I ever tell you that you're hot as fuck when you're angry? Because you're hot as fuck when you're angry. Maybe we can take this non-conversation back to the bedroom and-"

"Only if he comes to. A threesome _is_ on my bucket-list."

My eyes widen, and I shoot her the motherload of Grey glares and growl in answer.

"That is _not_ fucking funny."

"Wasn't supposed to be."

"Eat your granola," I snap, exasperated as fuck, "Sawyer will take you to work when you're ready, I need to get going… I have an eight AM with that prick Smithton. If you're free for lunch, I'll move a few things around and join you. Does that work for you?"

She pointedly pushes her pitifully scant breakfast of granola and yoghurt away from her. I feel my teeth clench. Is it possible to die from vexation? Because if it is, I need to be on an intervention list somewhere. I close my eyes, remember that this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and killing her isn't conducive to that.

I'm not into the necrophilia shit.

"I will take myself to work, thank you very much," she replies tartly. "And I don't think lunch is optional today. You see, my boss is a proven tyrant and doesn't appreciate the many sacrifices his staff make to cater to his demanding needs, day in and day out. In fact, he's been known to _fire_ even his most devoted employees, especially the ones that get too close… the ones that he could _almost_ call a friend. For no real or discernible reason, other than his ego exploding to ten sizes bigger than his brain. So, I don't want to go and bring any negative attention down on my head. He's so stubbornly unforgiving, that he'd rather be miserable and right than happy and wrong. It's better not to risk it."

She grabs an apple and smiles a sweet smile that doesn't meet her eyes.

"I'm sure you understand, Mr Grey."

Her ass, tightly encased in a pencil skirt that would turn the head of a blind man, sashays out of the apartment before I can put brain to mouth and think of something suitably scathing. The elevator ping rings out in celebration of her triumph and I fuck the _Financial Times_ in the trash. It's ruined now, the numbers don't entice me, they don't caress me with the sexiness of their decimal points and percentage profits. Mrs Jones strides into the kitchen and I regard her warily. The morning that had held so much promise was rapidly turning into a shit storm of a day.

"Morning, Mrs Jones."

She smiles a polite smile and nods her head.

But I see it.

The anger and the hurt.

 _Fuck._

"Mr Grey, how are you? Would you like me to prepare some lunch for you to take to the office or will you be dining out today?"

Usually, her voice is warm and accommodating. Motherly, even. Today it's polite and efficient but with the cold tinge of winter dripping from the off beats. I throw down the last of my orange juice with an odd feeling of… muscular pain? Abdominal infection? Inflammation of the small intestine?

Ana would say it was guilt.

Sometimes, Ana says some crazy shit.

"No, I'm having lunch out of the office today. Thank you."

See?

I said thank you.

Boss of the year over here.

She nods silently, pleasantly, hating me on the inside. I roll my eyes. Also on the inside, because it would be rude to do it on the outside. Standing, I smooth down my tie and remind myself that I care about nothing and no one other than my family and Ana, and this… issue, is a meaningless blip on a much bigger radar. I grab my briefcase and call the now idle Sawyer as I walk towards the elevator. Punching the call button, I call a farewell to Mrs Jones against my better judgment.

She pretends, over the clinking of dirty dishes, not to hear me.

This time… the eye rolling is on the fucking outside.

I wish all my employees were robots, humans are so motherfucking tiresome, to the point that I almost support Skynet when I pretend not to watch _Terminator: Genisys_ with an enthusiastic Anastasia. Two minutes later, and I'm on the way to the office with a silent Sawyer. Luke is great, as humans go, he's greater than great. He uses blinkers, he turns the wheel left, he turns the wheel right… he does all the things one would expect a driver/PBG to do. I don't need his predecessor, I don't need him at all. And the fact that I'm swiftly and safely setting about my business is definitive proof of that fact.

 _Jason Taylor._

Please.

Does Ana really think that I can't go and stand on any street corner and get myself a brand-new Jason Taylor? He _betrayed_ me. If ever there was anyone who deserved to be severed without a severance package, it's him. I mean… I really have to insist that Ana agrees to a drug check, because she's clearly being roofied on a daily basis. Me and Taylor? _Friends?_ Jesus Christ… doesn't she know me at all, doesn't she know the most basic tenants of my being? I don't do friends, and I definitely don't do the friends and staff special. Last night, she tried to tell me that I _missed_ him, and that's why I was so cranky.

Three points.

Point one; I wasn't cranky. Infants are cranky, I'm Christian Grey.

Point two; I don't miss Jason Taylor. Or is it Josh Taylor? Who knows.

Point three; Well… obviously point three is just a reinforcement of point one.

By the time we pull into my self-assigned and prime spot at Grey House, I'm thoroughly satisfied with both myself and my points. I'm great, and so are my points. Sawyer slides back into traffic and I watch the break lights of the town car disappear into the bustle of a heaving Seattle morning. I can grow to appreciate Sawyer, he is… competent. That's all that matters, competency.

And loyalty.

Something Jack Taylor knew fuck all about.

And that is why Jacob Taylor no longer works for me.

Andrea greets me as I stride onto the uppermost floor that houses my office. She hands me my memos for the day and she is the same ball breaking badass of a PA that she always is. She doesn't care about John Taylor or the fact that he no longer works for GEH, she doesn't try to analyze shit. She just does her job, the one I pay her very well to do, nothing more, nothing less. And if Jeff Taylor had been capable of doing the same fucking thing, he'd still be in the very lucrative job he was dismissed from, three days ago.

But he didn't.

So he isn't.

And I'm happier than a pig in shit about it.

Happy, happy, happy…

I am.

 _I am…_

…

TBC

A/N: Just a lighter sort of fic, not gonna be a long one. Maybe two-three chapters. I need a break from the angst of my other stories! Inks x

…..


	2. Chapter 2

He's being ridiculous.

Standing outside Taylor's building with both my heart and foot in my mouth, I repeat that mantra over and over to myself. Christian has many, many traits that are worthy of admiration. He is sculpted in the shadow of an angel, he is sweet at his core and despite his notions on the matter, he is fiercely loveable. He is a business boomer with brains to burn. He's a friend to the third world, he's a benefactor in the privacy of anonymous donations and he's the best thing that ever happened to me.

He is also an idiot.

Taylor is, excluding me and his family, the closest thing he has to a friend.

And I'm not about to let him throw that closest thing in the trash for the sake of a ridiculous misunderstanding and two stubborn alpha-male egos butting heads. I'm not big on the whole _a woman knows her man better than he knows himself_ school of thought. But this is an exception to the general rule. Because in this instance, I _do_ know my man better than he knows himself. And my man is afraid to admit that he misses Taylor, even to himself, and he's even more afraid to countenance the very idea that _he_ could be in the wrong.

That he, Christian Grey, was capable of being wrong.

The apartment building's main door suddenly opens, and a slim twenty-something exits, clutching a yoga mat. This is my opportunity and I smile my thanks to her as I dart in before the door closes, muttering absentmindedly about forgotten keys. His apartment is on the third floor, number sixty-two. I extracted this intelligence from an initially reluctant Mrs Jones. Once she knew what I wanted to do however, she was on board. He takes his time in answering my impatient knock and I'm willing to bet he's analyzing my anxious face on some hidden surveillance system.

Sure enough, when he does answer, he doesn't seem surprised.

Just wary.

And wearied.

"Miss Steele. Is everything ok?"

Politeness dictates that I should ask for his permission to enter his home. Experience dictates that if I do, I'm getting nowhere with the mission I need to accomplish. I smile and stride my ass into his sparsely decorated home, forcing myself to forget the manners I was born with. His sigh is loud and exasperated as he closes the door behind me, trudging into his living with resignation splattered all over his face.

"Miss Steele, this is really not the-"

"He misses you, Taylor. Christian misses you."

The scepticism on his face is not encouraging.

"I don't think Mr Grey is in the habit of yearning after former employees, Miss Steele."

I roll my eyes.

He's not here to see it.

"Mr Grey is in the habit of making decisions that are to his detriment in the heat of the moment. You've been there from the get go, Taylor. You're the one he trusts the most, the one he always turns to. You're the closest thing he has to a friend and I'm pretty sure that boss or no boss, you like him too. And I'm not about to just sit around while you two play in separate sand boxes because of your masculinity bullshit. I don't know what happened between you two, he won't tell me, but I'm sure it's nothing that can't be resolved."

Jason looks at me for a moment and I swear that it's amusement I see in his eyes.

"Mr Grey hasn't told you the issues surrounding the… ahh, nature of my dismissal?"

I roll my eyes again.

He's still not here to see it.

"Well, no, but I know it's not something that is completely without hope of redemption. It can't be. And Christian needs you, Taylor, even if he'd rather die than say it. And I mean that, quite literally. He would rather _die_ than say it so that's why I'm here and that's why I'm saying it. And that's why I'm asking you to come over for dinner tonight. You two can sort this out over some food and drinks and then I can go back to _not_ worrying about the fact that he's silently missing you, but to stubborn to say so."

He leans against the pillar of his open plan kitchen.

This time, there's no mistaking the absolute mirth in his eyes.

 _He's fucking laughing at me._

I glare.

Here I am, staging an intervention out of the goodness of my heart, and he's silently laughing at me.

"Miss Steele, are we talking about the same Christian Grey? Because, the one I worked for, misses and needs no one. Except maybe you, and maybe his family… but definitely not his staff. He'll do fine with Sawyer and Sawyer will do fine with him… and I'll… I'll do fine without him. Now, I appreciate that your intentions were good in coming here but if there's nothing else, I have some business lined up for today and I have to get going."

 _Like hell you do._

"Taylor, can't you just apologize and put this to bed? For the love of-"

"Me? _Me?_ Miss Steele, forgive me, but if you don't know the circumstances surrounding my firing, then how can you assume that I am the one who needs to apologize?"

That puts a spanner in my works.

I blink.

It's a damned good point.

"Well, there's probably a pair of you in it, all I meant was-"

"All you meant was… you want me to go and kiss the ring, worm my way back into the good books, all so that things can go back to the way they were?"

I'm a little startled.

I've never heard Taylor say so much in one sitting.

And I've never heard the tinge of bitterness that bounces in his tone.

 _Shit, Christian… what did you do? What did he do? What the hell is this about?_

I need to stay rational. This is a lover's tiff between two bromancers that don't even know that they _are_ bromancers. I've seen the way the two of them pore over car dealership brochures, rattling on excitedly about this new model and that new model. It's the one thing they share without any inhibitions, their love of cars. Christian is at his most animated during these conversations, he looks his age, he looks carefree. Taylor is at his most relaxed around him during these conversations, he doesn't _yes sir_ this and _no sir_ that. He offers his opinions with confidence. They are equal when it comes to their vehicular knowledge and passion.

I don't want my complex Christian to miss out on that.

I don't want Taylor, who is by far my favorite PBG, to miss out on that.

I have to box clever.

I have to be the diplomat.

I have to be truthful.

"Why don't you just come over for dinner, Taylor? Christian might not be able to say he misses you, but I can. _I miss you._ It's not the same without you around. Sawyer's fine and everything, but it's just not the same. I'm pretty sure that after a few glasses of wine and a full stomach, he'll be in a better frame of mind than when you two last spoke. And even if he isn't, you're not losing anything. We're free tonight if you are?"

He shakes his head, crosses his arms and it hits me.

 _Jason Taylor can be just as stubborn as Christian Grey can be._

Great.

Just great.

Maybe I'm a little wet behind the ears for an operation of this scale.

But a girls gotta try.

"Miss Steele, I-"

"Call me Ana."

"Miss Steele, trust me when I tell you that Mr Grey does _not_ want me coming over for dinner. Tonight, or any other night. And I don't want to come over for dinner, tonight or any other night. Everyone has their limits, and I've reached mine. I respect the man, and I will hold every single one of his confidences, but I've reached my limit. I am interviewing for other positions today that I hope-"

He scoffs tiredly, but good-naturedly.

"That I _hope_ will be a little less demanding and a little less mercurial than my employment with Mr Grey. I am never going to going work for him again, that part of my life is over. The doctor says the stress would have killed me anyhow so there really is nothing left to say on the matter. I appreciate your coming all the way over here, but I really don't think that Mr Grey would. So, let's just say our goodbyes now so that you and I can at least part on good terms. Ok?"

I shake my head in frustration.

Taylor… working for someone else?

Taylor… protecting someone else?

No.

 _No._

My cell kicks my ass out of my panicked reverie. My eyes close in trepidation. Only one person has that ringtone. Jason's lips quirk in amusement as he accurately reads the expression I'm sure is etched into my face. Pulling the phone from my back pocket, I cringe when I see his name bleeding into the LED display, accusing me with every shrilling ring.

"Aren't you going to get that? I may be three days on the unemployment scrapheap, but I do remember with a certain acuity that Mr Grey does _not_ like his calls to be ignored."

Suddenly, a disturbing possibility for his termination bursts into my mind.

And if that possibility is in fact the reason, then no dinner will ever heal the wounds. I bite my lip as I miss his call, I can predict the _twitching palms_ email that's coming my way, word for word. I table that for a second, there are more pressing concerns to deal with. My fingers tap my cell of their own volition as I try and find a polite way to ask a staggeringly impolite question. It becomes very clear, very quickly, that there _is_ no way to ask this impolite question politely.

I just have to ask it.

Otherwise, I'm wasting my time and Taylor's time.

My cell shudders with an incoming email.

 _That didn't take long…_

I blurt the question out. I don't mean to blurt the question out… but I blurt the question out.

"Taylor, did you sleep with Mia?"

Time stands still. His eyes widen as his brain tries to get on board with his ears. Disbelief colors his face, before giving way to angry indignation. Mia is, save for me and Grace, Christian's favorite female on earth. His little sister is near and dear to his heart. My own heart is hammering, I'm experiencing an ass-kicking bout of déjà vu. I'm back in Christian's office, I'm meeting him for the first time. I'm mumbling and I'm stumbling. I'm dressed like a pauper on the docks, he's eying me like a landowner inspecting his property. I'm reading Kate's inane questions, I'm asking Christian Grey if he's gay.

I snap back into the present.

This isn't that.

Taylor isn't glaring at me the same way Christian glared at me.

Taylor is laughing.

Taylor is laughing his fucking _ass_ off.

"Sleep with Miss Grey?"

His voice is tight with amusement, he's pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to contain himself. I don't think I've ever seen Taylor laugh like this, I don't think I've ever seen him laugh at my expense. I don't know how to react, what to do. Finally, he takes pity on my confused indecision and shakes his head with the fondness for me that sparked my fondness for him.

"Miss Steele, Mr Grey didn't fire me because I slept with his sister."

He snorts with bemused and oddly ironic laughter once more.

"Mr Grey fired me because I slept with his brother."

The air tickles my tonsils as my mouth falls open into a gormless gape.

"With… with _Elliot?_ Say _what_ now?"

….

TBC

A/N: Obvious divergence from canon here, just roll with it people! And just so we're all cheerfully crystal clear, Christian's problem is _not_ rooted in homophobia or because he wants Taylor - LOL!

Like I said, this is a light-hearted fic. Ain't nothing heavy afoot.

Till next time

Inks x

…


	3. Chapter 3

**From:** Christian Grey

 **Subject:** AWOL Girlfriend/Editor

 **Date:** May 20th 2012 – 10.04

 **To:** Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele,

You are in fact not at your place of employment and nor were they expecting you, and yet… you left the apartment this morning _to go to work._ You're not picking up my calls and my palms are beginning to twitch. They're beginning to twitch with a vigour.

Call me.

 _Immediately._

 **Christian Grey**

 **CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc**

 **Unimpressed and uninformed boyfriend**

* * *

I wince.

Sometimes, my ability to read Christian's mind is a burden that cripples my shoulders. But I don't have time to analyze that right now, I only have time for the bomb that's just come out of Jason Taylor's mouth. He's finding this whole twilight zone thing funny, I can tell. His face is serious, but his eyes are flooding with laughter. I scratch my head, literally. Jason and Elliot, Elliot and Jason… there are unlikely pairings in life and then there is Jason and Elliot, Elliot and Jason…

 _Holy shit._

 _Holy shit on a stick._

"You... you're… uhm, you mean to say that…"

"That I'm gay?"

His voice is amused, gently so.

"Yes, Miss Steele, I'm gay and Elliot is, in keeping with his enthusiasm for life, bi-sexual. It's not something he has spoken to his family or friends about as of yet…"

He snorts.

"Well, I guess you could say he's confided in his brother now… in a way."

It dawns on me.

It dawns on me like the rising sun.

"Christian walked in on the two of you, didn't he? He saw you and Elliot… uhh, he came upon you and Elliot…"

He's shuddering with laughter. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to contain himself, still the consummate professional. He gives a swift, silent nod. He won't get into specifics, neither of us want that. My lips are twitching, I can't help it. Amusement is rapidly turning to downright hilarity inside me. I can just see his _face,_ I can just see his widening eyes, his sense of misplaced proprietary interest over his staff and his brother. I can see it all unfolding, and I don't think I can keep it together for another second.

My laugher escapes me like a bat out of hell.

 _My poor, poor Fifty._

I can just imagine his shock, his indignation. Immediately, his problem is clear to me. Christian doesn't like the professional to come anywhere near the personal. To him, Elliot is on one side of his life and Jason is on the other. The two are never supposed to mix. And… I'd bet my bottom dollar that he's a little sour about Taylor caring about both the Grey brothers, even if in manifestly different ways. He likes to be the sole possessor of anything he values, he's not big on sharing. My eyes are watering, tears of laughter are threatening to stream down my face.

"Oh, God, _Taylor…_ could you not have been a little more discreet?"

He shrugs unrepentantly.

"The other Mr Grey can be even more persuasive than his little brother. And, in my defense, we _were_ in my quarters at Escala. Mr Grey, Christian, needed something in rather a hurry and burst in without thinking that I might have company and the rest is history, and so am I."

I sober.

Taylor is _not_ losing his job just because he and Elliot are a thing.

Or did a thing.

"Taylor, do you really want to be history? Christian's complete and utter lack of tact aside, can you honestly say that you don't want to keep working at GEH? Because, you two are pretty close, even if you're both too stubborn to admit it and it'd be a shame for a… misunderstanding, to come between that."

He cocks a brow.

"I don't think Mr Grey is ever going to label the deflowering of his brother a _misunderstanding,_ Miss Steele."

I giggle.

I can't help it.

"Elliot is a man-whore, Taylor, and we both know it. He isn't exactly a shrinking violet and I'm pretty sure his flower left the plot a long, long time ago. Besides, if this were to develop into something more serious, you two would be great together. You could help to calm Elliot down and he could help to loosen you up."

He grins.

"You think I need to loosen up?"

I roll my eyes.

"I think anyone who spends their days dealing with the man I love in an employment capacity, needs to loosen up. Look, come over for dinner tonight. I'll invite Elliot and we'll hash this thing out. You're both grown and consenting adults and Christian is just going to have to realize that he can't control everyone and everything. And he misses you and don't try and tell me that you don't miss him, too, in your own way. If it doesn't work tonight, then I'll drop it… but please give it, and him, this last chance? He deserves another chance, Taylor, you know that as well as I do."

He sighs and rubs a hand over his tired eyes.

"Mr Grey was right about you," he mutters distractedly, "Like a dog with a bone…"

 _So he talks about me to Taylor?_

 _He sure doesn't seem to mind when I'm a dog with his fucking bone._

 _Hypocrite._

"He has a habit of being right," I reply dryly, "But not about this. He doesn't _really_ care that you're gay or that Elliot is bi, he cares that you're gay and Elliot is bi… _together._ You know how he is about keeping the professional and the private on completely separate spectrums. That's all this is, his nose is out of joint because he didn't know about the lines being blurred and uhm… his manner of finding out was a little… jarring."

Taylor's grin makes him look ten years younger.

"Miss Steele, I don't think _jarring_ quite makes the cut. You should have seen his face."

 _God, I wish I'd seen his face._

"Be that as it may," I laugh, "He will get over it. He loves Elliot and he values you. He doesn't want to be without either of you, and I'm sure he's giving his brother just a hard a time as he's given you. The only difference is, he can't fire his family. Please, hold off your job interviews for one more day and if tonight is a bust, I will wish you the best of luck with whatever new employment you might accept. But please don't give up on him, Taylor. He's the best person I know, he just needs a little more time to get his head around this… that's all."

Taylor's face is suddenly the softest I've ever seen it.

"I wish he'd met you years ago, Miss Steele. You've done wonders for him."

I blush.

It's a habit I still can't break.

"Well, I don't know about that," I deflect, "He _did_ fire you."

Taylor snorts.

"Miss Steele, Mr Grey has threatened to fire me once a day, every day since I met him. And yes, he did, but if we were in a previous time period, he wouldn't have just fired me. He would have tried to break several of my bones before doing so."

I raise a brow.

"Tried?"

He gives me a conspiratorial grin.

"He's never beaten me in a sparring match yet, Miss Steele."

That right there, _that_ is why I'm doing this. They're friends. Christian and Jason are friends, they just don't know it. And they're going to continue being friends, hell, maybe even brothers in law in ten year's time, who knows. What they're not going to do, is allow an unfortunate breach of privacy come between them, I won't let it.

"Dinner will be at seven, we'll see you then."

He opens his mouth to argue.

"For me, Taylor. Do it for me?"

Leaning back against the kitchen pillar and groaning, he gives a short nod.

"If the evening ends with me punching his judgemental lights out… don't say I didn't warn you. I don't work for the man anymore and my professionalism isn't something that I'm going to be too concerned about if he kicks off. Deal?"

I grin brightly.

"Deal!"

With a quick peck on the cheek, I'm leaving, and I have a completely different world view of Jason Taylor and Elliot Grey. Now all I have to do is implant that new world view into my Fifty's brain and get him on board with it. _No small task._ My cell beeps again as I hail a cab and I groan when I see an angrier version of his previous email. _No sense in delaying the inevitable._ I give the cabbie the address of Grey House and brace myself.

No one said being the other half of Christian Grey was going to be easy.

No one ever said it would involve the brokering of international peace.

I don't know what all those haggard looking European officials have to be so upset about. So they have to negotiate trade deals worth trillions of dollars… _I have to get Christian Trevelyan-Grey to admit he was wrong._ Who has the rawer deal? I ask you? _Who?_

Me.

That's who.

Andrea lets me in with a pleasant smile. The _no interruptions_ rule doesn't apply to me, but right now… I kinda wish it did. He's behind his desk and he's scowling. He's glancing at his Blackberry, waiting for me to call. His computer is bearing the brunt of his ire as he stabs at the keys. His palms look completely ordinary, but I know they're doused in an electric current that is somehow going to conduct on my ass before the night is over. _It's a small price to pay and besides… I've given up lying to myself about loving it, life is too short._ Damnit, now is not the time for these thoughts. I put the delicious thoughts in the delicious thought box in my brain.

I cough and announce myself.

He's on his feet like a jack-in-the-box.

"Close the door."

His voice is icy, it could literally repair the damage that global warming has wreaked upon the ice caps. I roll my eyes when my back is safely to him.

 _"_ _Stop rolling your eyes! You're in enough trouble."_

At least I know that when I die… I have priority boarding on the plane to heaven.

I'm a frigging _saint._

I close the door, and wonder would Andrea testify against him at the murder trial.

Probably not.

She really _is_ an excellent PA.

He opens his mouth to ask me where I've been, but I beat him to it.

Offense is the best defense and all that.

"I went to see Taylor. He's told me everything and I do mean everything. I listened, and I've invited him and Elliot to join us for dinner tonight. They've both accepted, and we will be sitting down with them this evening, come hell or high water. I have learned to listen to you on matters that I never thought I'd entertain a man on, so it's your turn to listen to _me_ now Christian Grey. Your brother and Taylor are interested in each other in a sexual capacity and you're going to get your beautiful head out of your beautiful ass and get on board with that… or you're going to answer to me about it."

I take a deep breath, an empowering breath.

 _I can do determined and dominant as well, Grey._

Ok, maybe not dominant… but whatever.

"What do you have to say about that? Are you on board, or aren't you?"

His mouth is open and he's gorgeous when he gapes. It doesn't happen often, very little catches him off-guard. He rubs his temples and I know I'm causing him a migraine. _Take an Advil and man up._ Silence bounds around the office like a hare and I don't break it, I just let it mount and mount. The ball is in his court now and his next words will be telling. He takes a deep breath and his angry summation of events is so loud that Andrea looks up from her outer desk in shock.

"The hell I am! He put _his_ dick in _my_ brother without _my_ permission, damnit!"

…..

TBC

A/N: Obviously, Christian has no right to be this annoyed, it's just a lighthearted exaggeration of his possesive streak!

Until next time,

Inks x

…...


	4. Chapter 4

The elevator lets out a ping of announcement.

Ana throws me a beseeching look, the kind that only she can pull off. For the first time in a long, long time, I am unmoved by the puppy dog eyes and shoot her a reciprocal glare. This is going to be a disaster, this is going to be a motherfucking shit storm. I'm trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey in a white shirt so starched my pecs are wrinkle free and a pants so sharp I'm concerned my dick is gonna take a paper cut to the shaft. I'm not dressed this way because _I_ want to feel good about myself, I'm dressed this way to intimidate. To remind these fuckers, these _fucking_ fuckers, that this is _my_ kingdom they're entering.

It's Taylor's smug face that I see first and my fists twitch.

Ana intercedes.

She's a clever girl.

"Jason, welcome," she greets warmly, dashing forwards to gracefully accept whatever grape piss he considers to be wine from his meaty hand, "Come on in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

Elliot's ugly head rears rapidly from Taylor's rear end.

"Hey, Ana!" he greets brightly, the fucking Judas, "How're you?"

She opens her mouth, also with an outrageously inappropriate grin to answer, but the oven suddenly has a shit fit and her face falls. Ana is very talented at many things, full blown Domestic Divadom… is not one of them. There's a tinge of charcoal on the air and she squeaks an _excuse me_ before sprinting off to the kitchen. My teeth smash against each other as she goes, the one fucking rule for the night being broken before we even sit down.

I was not to be left alone with these pricks.

They step out of the lift together, a brotherhood of solidarity.

Fuck me.

"Christian," says Taylor, clear and commanding, "Good evening."

My ears are doing this thing where they tell my brain that this _man_ is calling me _Christian._ I ogle him, I can't help it. He's been out of my employ for all of three days, and this son-of-a-bitch thinks he can come waltzing into my home and start throwing first-name terms around the place?

I think fucking not.

Before I can relay some pretty basic ground rules, Ana shouts for her beloved Jason. She needs his assistance, apparently. He trots off like a Shetland pony on steroids and it's just me and brother dearest. He eyes me warily, he knows me better than Taylor, knows just how far on the fuck-o-meter they've both rung.

"Brother. How're you?"

I raise a cold, condescending brow.

"Adoptive sibling, not of my own choosing or approval… I'm fine."

He rolls his eyes. Stuffing his hands in his denim jacket pocket, his head jerks in the direction of the laden down dining table.

"Shall we sit?"

"Oh no, I thought we'd stand and sing kumbaya for a while first. The usual."

Snorting, he storms past me and slams none-too-gently into my shoulder in the process. I follow him with narrowing eyes, realizing that there's no Mom here to shriek if I were to stab him in the eye with his own fork. The thought cheers me as I throw myself down in my pre-allocated seat across from him. Ana will be beside me, thank fuck, and Taylor will be beside the love of his little life. I should probably tell the man he needs to get tested.

Elliot has been in some nasty fucking places.

He clears his throat, clearly wishing that Jason would hurry the hell up, just as I'm wishing that Ana would do the same. He unscrews a beer from the medley in front of him and throws down a glug as I hope vindictively that it'll choke him.

"So, how's business?"

Really?

 _How's business?_

It was going fine until you stuck your dick in it, prick.

"So, how long have you been bi-sexual? Or is it bi-curious? I'm not sure of the correct term… then again it's _you…_ so shall we just go with the time-honored label of malcontent _whore?"_

His grin is the same that I've envied for all these years.

Quick, easy and always meets his eyes.

"I don't really believe in labels, I believe in having a good time. I guess that's where our paths diverge, isn't it? Of course, credit where credit is due… I'm pretty sure you had fun at your sixth birthday party, until that clown put his-"

"Did you tell Taylor you're a cesspool of STD's and poor decisions?"

"Did you tell Ana that you're a fun-sucking geriatric with a stick up his ass?"

My answering hiss is cut short. Ana and Taylor are back, each supporting one side of the most cremated fucking side of beef I've ever seen. My eyes water as the approaching smell of burnt on burnt catapults to an intolerable level. Ana is looking sheepishly chagrined, Taylor is deadpanning a look of oblivious admiration. The brutalized beef lands with a singed thunk in the middle of the table, it's blackened hue even more obvious as Taylor ducks back into the kitchen and returns with a platter of perfect sides.

They sit.

We stare.

"Christian, would you carve please?"

She's giving me the _help me, I'm screwed_ look that I just can't resist, and I nod despite myself. Grabbing the carving knife, I spot the sly grin on Elliot's face at my indecision and resist the urge to shove it right up his ass. He clearly doesn't mind what goes up there, so what the hell. Somehow, I manage to keep it together and slice up enough cremated cow for the four of us. An awkward silence is developing, it's prickling the back of my neck. Everyone has a full plate and there are no more preliminaries to attend to… this is the part where, generally, people _talk._

Well, I'm not going to break the tense silence.

This hellacious bullshit is not my doing.

Jason fucked my brother, my brother fucked Jason… in _my_ apartment.

Without ever consulting me on the matter.

It's just rude, it's ill mannered in the extreme.

"So, Elliot… how's work going?"

Ana's voice is way too forced, but Prince fucking Perfect over there has her back. Leaning back and pretending to enjoy the lump of coal in his mouth, he shrugs good-naturedly.

"We're swamped, but that's a good thing. I have a really exciting project on at the moment where we're being really picky about where we place our wood in-"

"Really picky about where you place your wood?" I interrupt with polite sarcasm, "Is that a new market you're branching into? I've never known you to be discerning in determining where your wood is best placed. In fact, I've known you to stick your wood in places where the sun don't shine, and more to the point, where you have no travel permit."

He glares.

Taylor chokes.

Ana kicks me under the table.

I grin internally.

 _Worth it._

"How is your work going, Christian?" Taylor snaps. "Fulfilling?"

I shrug casually.

"It's going well Jack, I'm in the middle of a recruitment drive at the minute. I need to be far choosier when it comes to picking my key members of staff. Reliable personnel are _so_ hard to come across. What is it you do for a living by the way? Nothing?"

This time my ankle bears the brunt of Ana's rage.

Still worth it.

"Currently, I'm looking for a position that matches my skill set. You see, I've recently discovered that money isn't the be all and end all when it comes to being happy in your work. You wouldn't believe the kind of asshole I had to suffer in my previous employment, so uptight. I'm pretty sure his lower secretarial pool had an ongoing bet about the length of the stick up his ass. I bet the house that it wasn't even a stick, it was a straight up tree trunk."

My mashed potato sours in my mouth.

 _This cheeky little bastard._

Ana's groan of despair is barely audible to my right.

"Elliot," she intervenes brightly, "Did you get the invite to the annual philanthropic ball? Will you be escorting him, Taylor? It's going to be such a great night, isn't it Christian?"

"Ana," I murmur greasily, "Don't embarrass our guests. The philanthropic ball is for people who are clever enough to be wealthy enough to _be_ philanthropic… not those who can just about afford a package holiday to Napa every other year."

Elliot swallows a lump of crispy beef with difficulty.

"I sure did Ana," his hand moves to run up and down Taylor's arm and I seethe inside, "And yes, Taylor will be escorting me. We may not be as rich as others, but we try to do our part. I've always found that it's far better to be happier than wealthier. You wouldn't _believe_ the amount of Fortune Five Hundred pricks I have to deal with. They're so arrogant, some of them even think they have the right to dictate how others live their lives. It's sad really, to be _that_ up one's one ass. Some say that's how haemorrhoids are formed."

Taylor laughs softly.

My eyes narrow to slits.

Ana's widen with horror.

"You'd know all about abnormalities of the anal walls, I suppose," I offer cheerfully, "What with all those STD kits you've had to have performed. Oh, that reminds me, Mom said something about her special talcum powder going missing again, you know the one you use to powder your ass crack? You haven't seen it, have you?"

He runs a hand nonchalantly through his hair.

"I think Mia might have had it, something her and Pierre were up to. Oh, that reminds _me,_ did you manage to get that message to her before she left for Paris? You know, the one about her helping you with Ana's birthday gift? Because you had _no_ idea what the love of your life would have liked for her special day?"

Oh.

Oh my Jesus.

This prick.

Ana stiffens at my side and the look of death blooms in her eyes. She's wearing said sisterly advice in the form of a ring with both our fingerprints moulded into the inset. She had brimmed with tearful joy when I gave it to her, it was a masterpiece of a stroke on the part of Mia. I would never have been able to think of something so thoughtful, I'm still learning to think in terms of sentiment, not sale value.

She's glaring.

I can feel her glaring.

I am going to hear about this later.

It's time to change the subject.

"Jeff, did you-"

"His name is _Jason,_ as you well know, Christian."

Ana's voice is glacial, she's on the edge.

"Yes, of course, Jason… how could I forget. _Jason,_ would you like me to put out some feelers for you, see if I can suss out any employment opportunities somewhere? I know a lot of people and you just wouldn't believe the lack of good support staff in this city. You're a janitor by trade, right?"

He grins over the rim of his water glass.

"You could say I've spent my fair share of time wiping the asses of others who never learned to do it for themselves, sure."

I bite my lip.

"I'm sure you were well compensated. Some might even say… unduly so."

He shrugs.

"The bigger the compensation, the bigger the asshole. It's a very simple equation."

"Proficient in math, are you?"

"As a-"

Ana's had enough. She's on her feet, she's looking oddly feral. Our heads snap up to compensate for the abrupt change in altitude. She glares down at us all and I die inside when I see her hands snapping to her hips. It's going down. It's going all the way down. Taylor and Elliot seem to sense this, and they lean back slightly, but I fucking can't. I'm right in the line of fire… it's insane that someone so tiny can be so terrifying when enraged.

"Taylor, Elliot… would you mind if I were to speak frankly?"

Say yes.

Say yes, we mind, we mind very much.

Say you have to rush off, say someone's cat is stuck in a tree.

 _Say something other than fucking no, I beg of you._

But, of course, they're too stupid for that.

They nod.

 _Idiots._

"Thank you," she snaps, and I just know this is about to turn right around on me. _Me,_ the innocent in all of this! _The aggrieved party._

"Christian is many varied and wonderful things-"

 _Oh._

 _Not a bad start, accurate if nothing else…_

"But he is also a fucking idiot of epic proportions."

 _Ah._

 _There we are._

"You two being together is not an issue. Christian is not homophobic or anything of the kind. What he is, is unduly possessive and rigid. His problem is solely and firmly rooted in the fact that he didn't _know_ that you two were together and that his… education on the matter, was a little… abrupt. It is also rooted in the fact that Taylor, you represent the professional, and Elliot, you represent the personal."

She sighs in exasperation.

"And the coming together of the personal and the professional in Christian's book, is unacceptable. Isn't that right, Christian?"

I nod curtly, glaring at said professional and personal.

I don't like the lines to be blurred.

If I'm paying you, you're not fucking my family.

Period.

"Which is why, it causes me such pain to come to the conclusion that I have come to. The conclusion that; if the professional and the personal are never to converge, in any way, for any reason… then mine and Christian's relationship was formed in impropriety. And, following Christian's extreme example that he has set here tonight, I cannot see how it can continue to flourish on the foundation of such _unacceptable_ roots."

My mouth drops open.

Elliot's mouth drops open.

Taylor, on the other hand seems to know something we don't, and smiles.

Smugly.

"When I first met you, Christian," she continues, looking down at me with this weirdly fucking apologetic look, "I was meeting you in your professional capacity. I was a young and impressionable student interviewing a high-powered CEO for my school's newspaper. Furthermore, I was a young and impressionable student that you invited to apply for a formal internship within your company. A couple of days after, you came to Clayton's in pursuit of a… relationship, with me, and the rest is history. If the professional and the personal are _never_ to come into contact, even in the most beautiful of circumstances or for the most potent of reasons, then how can you condone our relationship?"

You could fit a freight truck in my mouth right about now.

That's how wide its hanging open.

I can't speak, I cannot form a coherent thought.

Elliot and Taylor are now wearing matching looks of self-satisfaction.

I work through Ana's argument and the blackened beef that I managed to stomach is churning within me. I pick it apart, looking for a lacuna, looking for a way out. There are a few, but they're weak and they're churlish and they're gonna make me look like an even bigger dick if I press them. I scratch my head and realize that in all things, I have truly met my match with Anastasia Steele.

I don't know whether to love that fact or hate it.

I settle on the former.

I could never hate anything to do with Ana.

Even though at this very moment, I could happily spank her six ways from Sunday.

Fucking lawyer in hiding is what she is.

Literature lover my ass.

I know what I have to do, and it sticks in my throat drier than Ghandi's flipflop. I take a large glug of water, but it doesn't do shit. My fingers drum the table and I'm very aware that all eyes are on me, but that doesn't cause me any further distress. I'm used to all eyes being on me, I'm just not used to having to _answer_ to the owners of those eyes. What's the fucking point in being me if I have to do commoner shit like this? If we were living in a different era, I'd be a king and simply behead the fuckers that dared to aggravate me.

Elliot Grey and Jason Taylor would be the _Nearly Headless Nicks_ of the Tudor era.

The words form in my brain.

They hold on to my neurons and trickle down the path to my mouth.

They incur some heavy traffic.

They nearly veer off course into dense undergrowth.

But, with greater difficulty than I will ever admit to, I corral them back on track.

"Elliot, Jason," I mutter, "I… apologize for my reaction to your… relationship. Like Ana has said, it's nothing to do with homophobia or anything of the like. It was a matter of proper conduct but as my _dear_ girlfriend has so _helpfully_ pointed out… I can't throw stones into those particular glasshouses…"

I take a huge fucking breath.

"I hope you'll both forgive me my… less than stellar performance."

That's it.

That's all I've got.

But apparently, Ana doesn't think so.

I'm going to marry her just so I can divorce her.

That'll make a _statement._

She's giving me the eye, the _isn't there something else_ eye.

I'm not with the program… what the fuck else does she want me to say… does she want me to bend over too? Like, what else is there to…

Oh.

Fuck.

Double fuck.

But she has a point, a valid point and I manage to speak truthfully.

"Taylor, I was a prick to fire you. You didn't deserve it and I don't want a new PBG. Will you come back to work?"

Ana clears her throat.

The last piece of my flayed soul seeps into the floor and flutters straight to hell.

I mirror her and clear my own throat.

"Please."

He takes his sweet time. Elliot glances at him with a grin and shoots me a look that only a brother would understand. The _you're forgiven_ look. That's one down anyway, one to go. Ana glances between us anxiously, and I would rather die than admit to feeling my own share of nervousness. She was right, damn her, she was right. I _do_ miss Taylor, I like the bastard. I like him a lot. Sawyer is fine… but that's it, fine. He's not Taylor and he's not the guy I want flanking me during the tough times.

Just when I think he's not going to answer, he opens his mouth.

"I don't think you can afford me, Christian. My price has changed since we last spoke. By a solid ten percent and an additional week of paid vacation."

I snort.

I respect that.

"Done."

He grins and visibly relaxes.

"Then, Christian, I'll see you tomorrow morning as per the norm."

Ana visibly deflates with relief and mutters a soft _thank god_ under her breath.

"Good, very good. Oh, and Taylor?"

He raises a brow and with my next words, everything slips back into normality.

"It's Mr Grey."

…

A/N: FIN! Hope you enjoyed, this was a super fun break from writing the heavier stuff so I hope it was a fun break for you guys, too! I will be updating the rest of my stories over the coming days.

Thanks for reading and all your feedback, I really appreciate it!

Until next time,

Inks x

…


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